


Hollywood Bound

by imdirty



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Slash, alternative season 4, alternative universe, the other alternative is that he doesn't have the terrible wig like in season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 12:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdirty/pseuds/imdirty
Summary: Alternative Season 4, Thomas finds a new adventure waiting for him in America.





	Hollywood Bound

**Author's Note:**

> I love old Hollywood and I love our Thomas, and I really needed to turn this long time headcannon into something I could share. (I actually feel a little silly sharing it, but there's no one more encouraging than this fandom so here goes nothing!)

Thomas hadn’t been terribly enthusiastic about visiting America at first. From everything he read, he thought the servant’s quarters would be cramped, loud, and unfriendly on a transatlantic ship. That may have been true for the ship’s crew, but as a Lord’s valet, Thomas’s cabin was nearly as comfortable as Lord Grantham’s. Many other servants were friendly, outgoing men who shared stories of America that made Thomas eager to leave the shores of England behind.

After days at sea, passengers gathered on the ship’s decks as land finally came into view. As Thomas rested on the railing to try and get the best view possible, he heard someone calling his name from the deck above him. He shielded his eyes from the searing summer sun and looked up to find a familiar face beaming between two waving arms; his friend Clyde Harper. Thomas met Clyde during the war, and they remained pen pals ever since. Their experiences on the battlefield together bonded them, and Clyde was one of the few people Thomas felt he could actually be himself around. Clyde was a shorter, thinner man than Thomas, with frizzy brown hair and small blue eyes the color of dish water, though they sparkled with his energy for life. Despite that energy, he struggled during the years following the war; marrying and divorcing twice, spending every penny he had and then some, until he started going to the movies on an almost daily basis. He decided to cut his losses in England, move to California, and find a job - any job - in the filmmaking business. He came by way of Boston, planning to visit a cousin before making his way west. 

When the ship docked, Clyde rushed through the crowd to make his way to Thomas. He grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, spun him around, and pulled him into a hug. They first met when Thomas tended to Clyde’s shrapnel wounds, and pockmarked scars still lived in the lines by Clyde’s eyes and lips, all the more visible when he smiled. Thomas knew there were many more scars hidden under Clyde’s shirt and trousers. Thomas had spent hours carefully extracting hundreds of pieces of metal and clumps of dirt from Clyde’s flesh. An especially large smile lit up Clyde’s face as poured his plans out to Thomas, ones he intended to write to Thomas once in Boston, and basked in Thomas’s congratulations. Clyde didn’t let Thomas out of his grip until Thomas promised to telephone that evening.

Thomas collected every last one of Lord Grantham’s many cases and then climbed into a waiting car. The July sun was much less forgiving in Boston than in Yorkshire, and it was sweltering inside the leather-upholstered black car. Thomas fanned himself with a newspaper he had picked up by the dock. 

“Is it always this humid here?” he wondered aloud.

The driver laughed and looked at Thomas’s reflection in his mirror. “This is nothing compared to what they’re predicting for tomorrow.”

Thomas frowned and tried to roll his window down further, though it was as far down as it could go. “Will it be less oppressive in Newport?”

“I make no promises, pal, but you’ll have an ocean breeze.”

“The ocean doesn’t seem to be giving off much breeze up here.”

The car came to a stop at a busy intersection, and the driver looked over his shoulder at Thomas. “Regretting crossing the pond?”

Thomas leaned closer to the open window to get a better look at a handsome man hailing a taxi. Two more good looking men walked past the car before the driver rolled through the intersection, and three more chatted on the next street corner. “No, I quite like the idea of being in America,” Thomas replied.

The drive to Newport wasn’t as long as Thomas expected, and much to his relief, the thick air began to lift the further south they drove. The car bumped over cobblestones in downtown Newport on its way to the cliffs, where Mrs. Levinson’s mansion overlooked the ocean. The sun began its descent for the day, and the water glittered pink and orange as the car pulled in to the long dirt drive. Thomas climbed out of the car and couldn’t help groaning with relief as he stretched. It was warm but comfortable, and the only sound were the waves lapping at the jagged rocks below the cliff. Mrs. Levinson’s staff took all of Lord Grantham’s cases, except for the box with Lord Grantham’s most valuable items, which were in Thomas’s sole custody.

The Levinson mansion seemed another world altogether from Downton. It had every modern amenity, even downstairs. While Downton had a single gramophone, the mansion had multiple wireless radios, including one downstairs for the staff. The kitchen would have driven Mrs. Patmore to jump from the cliffs, Thomas thought, as it had seemingly every kitchen gadget he’d ever read about, including an electric dishwasher. A loud buzz startled Thomas as he played with the lever on a pop-up toaster. Unlike Downton’s system of bells, an elaborate system of buttons and buzzers connected the rooms of the mansion.

“That one’s ringing for you,” one of the maids informed Thomas as the buzzer went off a second time. He went upstairs to find Lord Grantham, and admired how modern and sleek everything was inside the mansion. He imagined Clyde surrounded by all kinds of modern, sleek equipment someday soon, helping make a film that would entertain thousands, maybe even millions of people. It seemed far more rewarding than helping a Lord dress for dinner, which Thomas had always looked forward to before this trip. He tried to perk up for Lord Grantham’s benefit, but couldn’t help feeling downtrodden as he helped his Lordship dress.

“Can you believe this place? You look about as uncomfortable with it all as I am,” Lord Grantham said as Thomas helped him into his shirt.

“How do you mean, my Lord?”

“Well the buzzers, for one,” Lord Grantham answered, nodding at the wall as he buttoned his shirt. “Buttons connecting every room, is that really necessary? I can tell you, I’ll be quite annoyed if a loud buzzing wakes me in the night.”

Thomas helped Lord Grantham into his dinner jacket. “I’m sure you’re tired after all this travel. Just send word if you’d like to turn in early.”

Lord Grantham nodded, then picked up on Thomas’s hint. “And I’m sure you’re tired yourself. I won’t make you stay up until all hours.”

“Stay up as late as you’d like,” Thomas said as he adjusted Lord Grantham’s bowtie. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

Lord Grantham adjusted his cufflinks as he chuckled. “I won’t be too late, if not for your sake, than for my own. I need rest before we go to Washington, especially since I hear it’s even more humid there right now than it was Boston.”

Thomas held the door for Lord Grantham and sighed. “I didn’t think such a thing was possible.”

As valet, Thomas wasn’t needed for dinner service, and he took the opportunity to make his call to Clyde on one of the three telephones available to the staff. Clyde jumped into the conversation as if they had never parted, and Thomas thought how well Clyde would fit in among the chipper, fast-talking Americans he imagined working in the picture business. 

“You should forget this stuffy servant stuff and come with me,” Clyde suggested after Thomas lamented how drab and boring everything in his life seemed by comparison.

“I’ve tried to make my way in other things before, and I always end up right back where I am. I don’t see how pictures would be any different.”

“Why not?” Clyde asked, serious despite his laughter. “I think there’s a reason we were on that ship together.”

“Yes, it’s called coincidence.”

Thomas could tell Clyde was pacing as he spoke. “Our paths crossing is much more than coincidence. You’re never happy in your letters, and you know why? Because you’re bored. You’re not challenged.”

“Thank you?”

Clyde laughed. “You know what I mean. The wealthy aren’t our people, but the men of film are. They’re mostly working class, they’re from all different backgrounds, most have even less education than we have. We’d fit right in!”

Thomas tapped his knee with his fingers. “It’s an interesting thought, but awfully impulsive.”

“Trust me, it’s a great plan.”

“Great plan, hmm? You don’t even know what you’re going to do when you get there.”

“We can both be clueless together! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Thomas. You’re here. I’m here. Let’s get out of here.”

Thomas smirked. “You can be very intense, you know.”

“I have two ex-wives who’ve told me the same.”

“Maybe you’ll find the third in California.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone special, too.”

Thomas fingered the telephone cord and smiled to himself. “If you’re that serious, come down here tomorrow and talk your plan through with me in person.”

Clyde stopped pacing and mimicked Thomas’s tone. “Well I just might. We were both on that boat for a reason,” Clyde repeated. “I’ll show you I’m right.”

\------

I really hope he’s right, Thomas thought, as he listened to Clyde’s snoring. Clyde came down to Newport as he’d promised, not even sleeping the night before due to his excitement. He asked Thomas the same question repeatedly; what was waiting for Thomas back in Yorkshire? The only thing Thomas could think of was Jimmy, but Jimmy wasn’t waiting. He was there, but not waiting. 

With all the times his job at Downton had been put at risk for one reason or another, and all the other servants in England who were out of a job completely due to the changing times, Clyde’s argument in favor of getting a fresh start was convincing. Clyde had bounced as he spoke, bubbling up with more energy as he could see Thomas beginning to consider the idea. 

“I can’t leave Lord Grantham in a lurch,” was Thomas’s best argument against following Clyde.

“Well, don’t. Go down to Washington, come back up, and let him go back to his valet. And you, my friend,” Clyde said, clamping his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, “you come be pioneer of a new industry with me.”

“You could sell snowshoes to a camel,” Thomas marveled as he lit a cigarette. 

All the gadgets and technology in the Newport mansion reminded him of clockmaking on a grander scale, Thomas had told Clyde. Imagine all the gadgets and technology involved in making pictures, Clyde replied. Thomas’s decision was sealed; he would give his notice and go with Clyde. It may seem like a hasty decision, and it was in part, but many smaller experiences brought him to the day when giving his notice felt like the best decision he could make for his future.

Lord Grantham was surprised by Thomas’s announcement, but not shocked. He always thought Thomas was after bigger and better things, he just never imagined those things would be found in America. After consuming almost an entire bottle of wine with dinner, Lord Grantham even offered to cover the cost of Thomas and Clyde’s train tickets.

On his last day as valet, Thomas helped Lord Grantham into his suit for his trip back home, gave two letters to Lord Grantham to bring back (one for Mr. Carson, one for Jimmy), entrusted Lord Grantham’s most precious items to the care of the ship’s first mate, and watched the ship set sail for England. 

Lord Grantham arranged for train tickets with a private sleeping car, where Clyde snored and Thomas sat, smoking a third cigarette in a row, trying not to question whether he’d made too hasty a decision leaving Downton further and further behind. The fields and farmland they rode through didn’t resemble Yorkshire one bit. Everything seemed flat, flat, flat once they were halfway through their trip, and Thomas realized he knew nothing about what California was like. Was it flat land like this? Or was it lush like the hills overlooking Downton? He pushed homesick feelings as deep as they would go. No turning back, not yet. What was ‘home’, anyway, he wondered. He considered penning another letter to Jimmy, but thought better of it.

Thomas was still sleepless the last night of the trip. “No one there’d miss me half as much as I’d miss them,” Thomas whispered to the stars, smoke trailing from his lips through the open window. 

Clyde rolled over and squinted at Thomas in the dark. “Get in your bunk. I’m not dragging you around tomorrow if you’re tired. We have work to do as soon as this ride is over.”

“Oh, please,” Thomas scoffed. “You can thank me for these cozy bunks in the first place. You would have gotten us a spot to sleep on some hay in a cattle car.”

Clyde reached up to Thomas’s bunk, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it at Thomas’s head. “Sleeping on hay in a cattle car! You watch too many flicks.”

“Right, I’m the one watching too many. You’re the one who thinks Chaplin films are true stories.”

“No, no, I just choose to believe he’s like that in real life.” Clyde rested his hands behind his head and stared at the springs under Thomas’s empty bunk. “I suppose I’ll get to find out for myself, in person, soon enough.”

“You think you’re going to meet Chaplin?”

Clyde smiled. “Sure, of course! We’ll meet anyone we want to. Who do you want to meet?”

Thomas rolled his cigarette between his fingers as he ran through a list of his favorite stars. “I’d like to meet Buster Keaton.”

“Really? I thought you’d say Rudolph Valentino.”

“Why?”

“All the girls swoon for him, I figured you did, too.”

Thomas threw the pillow back at Clyde, hitting him square in the face. “I said Keaton because I respect and admire his work, not anything else. And I’m done with ladies men anyhow.”

“Right, sure. And when I dream about Gloria Swanson, it’s for her brains.”

“I forgot how incorrigible you are. Make sure you don’t say things like that in front of anyone else.”

Clyde tossed the pillow back up to Thomas’s bunk. “As if I’d ever. Now flick that cigarette out the window and get some shut eye.”

“I will in a moment,” Thomas replied. It seemed like the train picked up speed while he and Clyde bantered. The warm wind swept Thomas’s hair from his forehead. He leaned into the wind, closed his eyes, and focused on letting his worries and fear fly out of the window like the trail of smoke. 

Upon finally arriving in California, Thomas and Clyde were haggard from days in transit, but Clyde quickly felt energized by the warm climate and its similarly sunny inhabitants. The people they met were in stark contrast to the harder people back east, and Thomas was beginning to miss them with every big smile he received. He would rather a bit of Boston or Washington’s humidity if the trade-off was a population fluent in his brand of sarcasm. Temperate climates bred temperate people, he thought. The architecture was jarring to Thomas as well. Boston and New York may have been much younger than England, but California was brand new, and nothing looked a bit like it did back home.

“You’ve been here virtually minutes. Buck up,” Clyde told Thomas, “you’ll find spiky people like yourself. And you’ll get used to the stucco houses and citrus trees.”

The local people were accustomed to new folks arriving with nothing but a piece of luggage and a dream. While dropping letters at the post office, Clyde chatted with the patrons around him. An older couple took an immediate liking to Clyde and offered he and Thomas a room for a week. They suggested the newspapers would be a good place to find some work, and Thomas and Clyde bought a copy of every local paper from the nearest stand.

They found a pub, which called itself a “saloon” for the benefit of tourists and newcomers, and they sat at the furthest end of the bar from the other patrons. They spread out the newspapers, pencils in hand, and circled different opportunities as they waited for their beer and sandwiches.

“There’s probably nowhere around here that serves tea,” Thomas observed, flicking his lighter to ignite the cigarette pressed between his lips.

“And I doubt these are the kind of sandwiches you’d serve to the Lord and Lady,” Clyde replied.

Thomas chuckled with the cigarette between his teeth. He smoothed out a newspaper and leaned over it. “It’s actually time for the servant’s supper in Yorkshire right now,” he said as he looked through ads, column by column. “A whole world away, it seems.”

“Because it is a whole world away. Find anything?”

“What do you think of this one?” Thomas asked as he leaned closer toward the paper. “‘Wanted: young actors and actresses with good dexterity, a friendly disposition, and little inhibition’.”

“It doesn’t say that,” Clyde said with disbelief as he leaned over Thomas’s shoulder. “My goodness, it does.”

“I think you should audition,” Thomas said with a grin.

“I think you should watch your cheek and focus on the task at hand.”

Thomas licked the back of his teeth and smiled. “It’s hard to embarrass you, but worth the effort when I succeed.”

Clyde sighed with relief as their lunch arrived. “How about this one?” he asked after devouring half of his sandwich in four bites. “‘Skilled hands needed for set-building, electrical department, and camera operation. Thirty positions to fill by Thursday’.”

“We have hands, but they’re not skilled in any of those things.”

“We’ll figure it out. I’ll call when we’re back at granny and gramp’s.”

Thomas skimmed through page after page, but nothing seemed more promising than the advert Clyde found. No questions were asked when Clyde made his call later that afternoon; Clyde was given an address and an appointment to show up at eight o’clock.

The next morning, the older couple gave Clyde and Thomas a ride to the address, which brought them to an enormous warehouse. Rather than boxes or crates inside as Thomas imagined, a whole house was built made of rooms with three walls each, as though they were walking through a life-sized dollhouse. Cables, wires, lights, and props all booby-trapped the walk through the warehouse, which was guided by a young man with a clipboard and red cap. He delivered the pair to a hallway where several other men waited in line.

“But we had an appointment,” Clyde complained when the man with the clipboard instructed them to wait behind a dozen other men.

 

“Yeah? Well so do they, buddy,” the man said before walking swiftly to his next task.

One man was taken in at a time, and each came back with a yellow piece of paper and a smile. It made Clyde hopeful to find employment, and Thomas disappointed that the job would be so easy that any man could do it. Thomas let Clyde go first; depending on the outcome, he thought he might skip it altogether.

Clyde spent slightly longer in the room than any of the other men, and when he emerged, he had a yellow piece of paper and a grin ear to ear. 

“See, I knew they’d give these jobs to anyone with a pulse,” Thomas whispered.

Clyde grinned so hard his cheeks were rosy. “Hush up and go in. You’ll be glad you did. Boy, I wish I could come with you just to see your face.”

Another man in a red cap waved Thomas toward the room. He narrowed his eyes at Clyde before following. Inside was a larger space than Thomas anticipated, with at least twenty men hammering away on a set. Thomas was taken to a man sitting at a table, his back to Thomas. The man was tinkering with a camera, the machine open, displaying all of its gears, sprockets, and mirrors. 

“This one’s second to last until ten,” the man in the red cap told the man hunched over the camera.

“Make him the last, the next one can wait ‘til ten,” the man said without looking up.

Thomas stood with his hands at his sides, not sure what he was expected to do next. He leaned to the side to see around the man’s head, and was impressed by the complicated system inside the camera. 

“It’s like a still camera and a clock combined,” Thomas observed.

The man twisted his torso to look up at Thomas, and Thomas’s stomach lurched and flipped when their eyes met. 

“What’s yer name?” 

Thomas shook the man’s hand, now extended towards him. “Thomas Barrow. And you certainly need no introduction.”

“Well, the name’s Buster just the same.” 

Thomas jumped as Buster Keaton stood and grabbed his left hand. “Does anything under this glove impede your ability to use your hand?” Buster asked, turning Thomas’s hand over, back and forth.

“I do everything the same as I did before. Does this mean I’ll be the first man in line who doesn’t get a paper?”

Buster dropped Thomas’s hand and held up his index finger. “I lost half my finger twenty-some years ago and it hasn’t slowed me down. Now, about that paper,” he said, pointing the finger at Thomas. “What can you do for me?”

“What is it you need, sir?”

Buster put both hands over his heart and closed his eyes. “Ah, it sounds so much nicer with your accent than the rubes around here.” He smiled and gestured toward the camera. “Could you fix these?”

Thomas admired Buster’s accent as well. He’d never heard the man’s voice before, and it was more baritone than he imagined. “I suppose I could try.”

“Could you build that?” Buster asked, pointing at the set.

“I could try.”

“Can you act?”

“I’ve been told I have two faces, if that counts.”

Buster rested his weight on his heel and put his fists on his hips as he sized Thomas up. Thomas had already sized up Buster, and was still surprised how very short the man was in person. “I bet you can do enough to be useful. Here,” he said, swiping a piece of paper from the table. “Fill it out, bring it back this afternoon, and I’ll put ya to work.”

Thomas accepted the paper with a thank-you, but before he could leave, Buster stepped closer to Thomas until they were chest to chest.

Buster looked up at Thomas with one eye narrowed, his bottom lip between his teeth. “I dunno. That face may be too pretty for me to keep behind the scenes. The ladies’ll love it, I bet. Sure you can’t act?”

Thomas held his breath, still in awe that he was face to face with the one famous person he truly wanted to meet in California. “Perhaps,” he said, looking down into Buster’s probing brown eyes, “but if I’m being honest, I’m much more interested in what’s going on inside that camera.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Buster said, waving Thomas off as he returned his attention to the broken machine. “Guess we’ll see this afternoon.”

Thomas walked to the hallway slowly, still star-struck. “Like I thought, there’s a lot more to him besides the comedy,” Thomas told Clyde as they compared yellow papers.

“I guessed your type all wrong,” Clyde commented. “Turns out you like ‘em about a foot shorter and a lot more goofy looking than ol’ Rudy Valentino.”

“Are you practicing your American accent?”

“How’d it sound?”

Thomas lit a cigarette and looked at Clyde from the corner of his eye. “Keep practicing. And you know, I’m perfectly capable of simply liking a man without wanting something more. If our friendship hasn’t shown that to you, I’m not sure what else would.”

Clyde smiled and shrugged. “I suppose it’s hard for me to understand, since just about every woman I see makes me want to see something more of them.”

The yellow papers that Clyde and Thomas received listed dozens of skills with check-boxes to complete. Thomas had to think creatively when answering, since none of the boxes were for things like dressing another man or announcing guests. 

“Could I set up lighting equipment?” Thomas asked Clyde.

“I bet you lit candles for dinner at Downton.”

“Then I will check ‘yes’. This might be easier than I thought.”

“Check the box that says you can write scripts.”

“But I can’t.”

Clyde raised an eyebrow. “As if you’ve never invented a story.”

Thomas read over the entire list, checking more boxes than he skipped. He held his pencil over the final box. “Can I play baseball? What does that have to do with anything?”

“No clue, but check it off. You can play cricket. How much different could it be?”

“Plenty different, but I’ll check it off anyway.”

Thomas’s nerves caught up with him by the time he saw Buster that afternoon. When it was Thomas’s turn to have his yellow paper reviewed, Buster looked it over while nodding slowly, saying, “Uh huh. Uh huh,” to himself as he went through the list. He gave Thomas a coy grin at the end. “You can play baseball, huh? What position?”

Thomas gave a bashful laugh and looked away. “We play cricket where I’m from, but I’m no slouch at that. I bet I could learn the rules of baseball in an afternoon.”

Buster’s grin grew to a smile. “You think it’s that easy, do ya?”

Thomas stood as if he were being addressed by Lord Grantham; hands by his sides, back straight, chin up. “I don’t think the sport is easy, I just think my potential to play is high.”

Buster laughed and clapped his hands together. His face quickly jumped to a frown as he realized he had crumpled Thomas’s checklist. He smoothed it out with swift motions of his hands and read it over once more. “According to this, you’re more useful to me than at least six of these other men combined. I need an assistant on this picture. Do you want to be my right hand? Amputated finger and all?”

Thomas batted his eyes, surprised by the offer. “Yes, of course, sir.”

“Buster’s fine, you don’t need to call me ‘sir’.”

“I might be more comfortable calling you ‘sir’ if you don’t mind.”

Buster adjusted his mop of wavy black hair and plucked his hat from a table. He flipped the hat in the air and caught it on his head, then patted it down with the palm of his hand. “Whatever floats yer boat - Barrow, isn’t it?”

Mister Barrow, Thomas thought. “Yes, sir.”

Thomas assumed work would start the next day, but as far as Buster was concerned, everyone he hired was immediately on the payroll. Clyde was assigned to help hang wallpaper in a fake living room, and Thomas was told to follow Buster.

“Assistant,” at least Thomas’s first day, meant doing whatever Buster asked, no matter how random the request. Hold a prop steady while Buster hammered a nail; make a call to secure a horse for the next day; spot Buster while he practiced a new flip. At one point Buster asked Thomas to, “stand behind me and look tall,” while Buster argued with an executive producer from the studio. Whoever Buster talked to, whatever he said, there was no question he was in charge of the film. Thomas’s respect and admiration for Buster grew with each passing day. A small part of him was a little frustrated that his new job was really just a different kind of servant from his role at Downton, but he would have happily served Buster tea all of day if that’s what the man wanted.

When the first week was over, the older couple extended an offer to Clyde and Thomas to stay as long as they wanted. The couple enjoyed the company of the younger men, especially as they said Thomas reminded them of their son, and they also enjoyed the rent Clyde and Thomas volunteered to start paying. The two shared a room, smaller than Thomas’s room at Downton, but more comfortably furnished. And unlike Downton, Thomas could come and go as he pleased, at any hour, for any reason, without having to explain himself to a single soul.

When he accepted the position, Thomas didn’t realize he’d have a full day off per week, and one weekend per month. It was a windfall compared to his free time at Downton, but he wasn’t sure how to spend it. He didn’t know the area, and hadn’t saved enough money to do much of anything besides borrow a book from the library and buy a pop on the way home. Buster asked Thomas what he planned for his upcoming weekend off, and Thomas admitted that he had no plans.

“We could see how quickly you can pick up baseball,” Buster suggested.

“Me and you?” Thomas asked, instantly cursing himself for saying it in such awe. 

“I’m playing a game with some of the guys tomorrow, you can join in,” Buster said, either ignoring Thomas’s awe, or oblivious to it.

Thomas nodded. “Sure. Sounds lovely.”

“Lovely,” Buster repeated, copying Thomas’s accent. 

To Buster’s surprise, but not Thomas’s, Thomas picked up baseball just as quickly as he had anticipated. The rules and gameplay transferred easily from his cricket skills, and he even got a home run, which elicited a high-pitched, impressed whistle from Buster and cheers from his teammates. The cheers from one man in particular caught Thomas’s attention, an actor Thomas had noticed on Busters sets. All actors seemed to be handsome, but this one, with his fair complexion, light eyes, blonde hair, and broad build checked off several of Thomas’s boxes.

Even before the baseball game, Buster already had a good deal of respect for Thomas; he appreciated a man who made his own way as Thomas was doing, and admired that Thomas could do a variety of different things quite well. Thomas was also a breath of fresh air to Buster compared to the egotistical attitudes of some of the other movie-making men around him. The fair actor who quickened Thomas’s pulse happened to be one of those men who, according to Buster, had an undeserved ego.

“Men like me and you, Barrow,” Buster said as he applied makeup before a shoot, “we have confidence, and people can mistake that for us being conceited folk. But yer not being conceited when yer just plain good at things.”

Thomas chuckled. “It’s reassuring to hear you think I’m good at things.”

“Oh don’t go fishin’ for compliments,” Buster said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “You’ll turn into something like that one over there,” Buster said, nodding in the mirror. Over his shoulder was the fair actor, applying makeup as though he were working on a masterpiece.

Even through the thick and unflattering film makeup, Thomas still found the man as somewhat of a masterpiece indeed. 

“I bet you could act circles around that one,” Buster said quietly.

Thomas lit a cigarette and handed it to Buster, and then lit one for himself. “I’ve never acted a day in my life.”

“Still bet you could. What should we bet? A drink? Two drinks?”

“You just want to drink.”

Buster shrugged. “Sure, but I still bet I’m right.”

Thomas looked at Buster’s makeup and shrugged himself. “What acting could I do? Pretend to be a servant?”

“It would be a start. You have the face for acting, that’s for sure. And the attitude. I’ll get you in front of the camera somehow.”

After a long morning of shooting, Thomas and Clyde joined Buster at one of the folding metal tables set up outside for lunch. It was under a very large tent, one that might otherwise house an outdoor party. The warm wind made the sides of the tent flap slowly, and Thomas was reminded of the tents set up in the gardens of Downton that same time of year. Instead of running between the tents, serving tea or wine or hors d'oeuvres, Thomas was resting in the shade while other people prepared his food. 

Buster had his elbows on the table as he unceremoniously chomped on a corn cob. “So what kind of writing have you done?” he asked Thomas between loud bites.

Thomas patted the corner of his mouth with his napkin and finished chewing before responding. “How do you mean?”

“You checked the box when you applied.”

Clyde chuckled and covered his smile with his ear of corn. “Thomas is adept at inventing stories.”

“I don’t invent stories,” Thomas retorted, “but I might be known for spreading them.”

“Tell me one,” Buster ordered, ever the director even on a break. “Tell me what it was like coming to the states for the first time.”

Thomas took a bite of his lunch and studied his plate while he thought. “Where I’m from, most everything’s done just as it was a hundred years ago. New things creep in here and there, and everyone’s mourning for how things used to be even when those new things make life better. But here… the first place I went was a mansion in Newport. Everything was electrified, and everything electric was welcome. Encouraged, even.” Thomas chuckled to himself. “Electrified even if it didn’t need to be, just because they could.”

A smile slowly came over Buster’s face. “An electric house, huh?”

“There could be some good gags with an electric house,” Clyde said, picking up what Buster was thinking. “You might have just inspired your first script,” Clyde said, elbowing Thomas’s arm.  
______________

Thomas was overjoyed by the idea of inspiring Buster’s next film, until Buster asked him to play a servant. It was impossible for Thomas to say no to the man, and at least he could ensure that the performance was accurate. Buster directed Thomas to help another actor prepare for the role of a second servant, and Thomas smiled to himself when the actor turned out to be the handsome, fair man he had seen around. Thomas’s heart raced at just the sight of the actor, and a handshake made him downright bashful. He smiled and looked away before meeting the man’s eyes, and he swore there was something knowing behind the look he received in return. Though the man was American, his parents had been from Camden, England, and named him in tribute. Thomas felt instant comradery with Camden, having met no one else in California with the faintest connection to England.

Thomas felt a bit jealous of Clyde, who helped build props, some actually electrified and others invented to look that way. His jealousy subsided when it was time to help Camden prepare for his role. Camden complained that he wasn’t able to get the posture just right, and asked Thomas for help. Thomas nodded and placed one hand on Camden’s lower back, pushing forward, and the other hand on the man’s chest, pushing up. He then adjusted Camden’s arms and shoulders, and finally tipped the man’s chin upward with the tips of his fingers. He tried not to infer too much from the request. Certainly Camden could have just mimicked Thomas’s posture. There was no real need for hands-on help. Thomas pushed the thoughts away, though the thoughts chased him all day and into the evening. At supper with Clyde and the elderly couple, he asked more questions of the elderly couple than he had in the past, hoping the conversation would be distracting for him. It was, for a bit, and he learned that the couple’s son would be moving into the empty bedroom in the attic space of the house, the son that the couple considered Thomas’s American twin. 

“Maybe you’ll have a real, live friend for once,” Clyde teased.

“Aren’t you my friend?” Thomas asked with a pretend pout.

Clyde laughed. “I don’t know why Buster thinks you can act, you’re one of the worst I’ve seen.”

Thomas elbowed Clyde, complimented the couple on the supper, and headed to bed, where thoughts of Camden made themselves all too present.

On set the next morning, Thomas and Clyde arrived to a commotion. Someone had tripped over one of the many cables running back and forth across the studio, Thomas overheard. He followed the sound of a pained cry to find Camden on the ground, holding his arm tightly to his chest. Someone had already called an ambulance, but Thomas’s instincts from his days as a medic kicked in. He dropped to his knees and moved Camden’s arm and hand enough to quickly diagnose a break. 

“Looks like we’re down to one servant,” Buster huffed, far more concerned with the picture than the man on the floor. 

Thomas handed Camden off to the paramedics upon their arrival, wishing he had a good excuse to accompany them to the hospital. He perked up when he realized he could check on Camden that evening, with only a small amount of passing guilt that he had found a way to take advantage of the situation.

Thomas found Camden’s number in the phone book, and could hear the man cheer at the sound of his voice on the line. Of course he was welcome to visit, Thomas was told. He scribbled the address on a slip of paper by the elderly couple’s telephone, waved a quick good-bye to Clyde, who returned it with a wink, and took a taxi to Camden’s address.

Camden lived in an apartment that faced in on a courtyard. Thomas admired the cacti and other succulents planted in the gardens, plants he still hadn’t grown accustomed to seeing outside of a botanic garden. He wished he could have brought flowers, as his impulses begged him to. He thought Camden was the type of man who would understand the gesture, but Thomas couldn’t be sure. And after his experience with Jimmy, Thomas would need an engraved invitation before making any kind of gesture in the future.

Thomas knocked, and was told to let himself in. He peeked in with his head first, then stepped inside, closing the door softly. Camden sat in a high back chair, his arm cast and in a sling. 

“I don’t suppose many servants work with a bum arm?” Camden asked Thomas with half a smile. He nodded for Thomas to sit on an adjacent chair.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thomas said lightly, lifting his gloved hand, “they let me work with this.”

Camden reached across the short distance to Thomas and held Thomas’s hand for a moment. He let go and shrugged. “It looks quite a bit more useful that this,” he said, lifting his arm very slightly at the elbow.

“Can I get you something? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

Camden, his eyes still on Thomas’s hand, thought for a moment. His blue eyes finally looked up into Thomas’s curious grey eyes. “You were a valet, you said, right?” Camden asked, pronouncing it the American way.

Thomas smiled. “A ‘valet’ as you say, yes.”

“I’d love to get into some pajamas for the evening, it would be easier with more than one arm.”

Thomas inhaled, hopeful but not certain that the request meant something more. “Of course I can help with that. Lead the way.”

Camden kept his bedroom as neat as Thomas kept his own. An open window looked out onto the courtyard, and even as Camden pulled the curtains closed, the moonlight still streamed through the fabric.

“The nights are lovely here,” Thomas commented.

Camden opened a dresser drawer and removed a pair of neatly folded cotton pajamas. “There’s nothing like watching a sunset from the hills.”

“I’ve yet to do that.”

“I could take you sometime,” Camden offered as he placed the pajamas on the bed. He removed his sling with his free hand, then stood waiting for Thomas to help him unbutton his shirt.

Thomas took a step toward Camden, waited a moment, then began unbuttoning the man’s shirt from the collar down. Standing this close, Camden was even more handsome. Thomas could smell Camden’s cologne as he helped him out of the shirt. “Your undershirt will be a bit trickier.”

Camden chuckled. “Perhaps just cut it off.”

Thomas tsk’d, but smiled. “I’m a professional, I can do this.” He started at the waist, sliding the shirt up to Camden’s chest. He tried to avoid touching any skin, but his fingers trailed Camden’s sides. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time his fingers touched the skin of someone he desired. He eased Camden’s good arm through the shirt, then over Camden’s head, and then very carefully down over Camden’s injured arm. He fixed Camden’s hair lightly with his fingertips. If it were Lord Grantham he was dressing, he would have helped him into the pajama top before moving onto the bottoms, but another minute of Camden without a shirt seemed like a better idea.

Camden undid his pants with one hand, and stepped out of them as Thomas kneeled with the pajama bottoms in hand. Thomas held his breath, wanting nothing more than to rest his cheek on Camden’s thighs rather than helping cover them up. Camden held his hand on Thomas’s shoulder as he stepped into the pajamas, and kept his hand there as Thomas rose to his feet.

Thomas froze as Camden’s hand slid slowly from his shoulder to his neck, and then his cheek. Camden turned the shoulder of his injured arm away as he drew Thomas closer. Thomas realized Camden was waiting for their eyes to meet before going further.

Camden continued to wait as Thomas, barely breathing, kept his eyes averted.

“Did I read this wrong?” Camden asked softly, his hand still resting on Thomas’s cheek.

Thomas swallowed and shook his head, then finally looked up. He opened his mouth to speak, but Camden’s lips met his before any words could escape. Thomas was embarrassed by how quickly Camden’s soft lips made him moan. He returned Camden’s kiss gently, still conscious of Camden’s injury even though most of his ability to think had been swept away by the kiss.

Camden broke the kiss slowly and stroked Thomas’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re one handsome fella, you know.”

Thomas couldn’t help grinning. The word “fella” was one he had only seen in writing before coming to America, and now it was everywhere, even in an intimate moment. “I ain’t too bad,” Thomas said in his best impression of Camden’s accent.

Camden laughed loudly and kissed Thomas on the lips again. 

“If only you weren’t in so much pain,” Thomas said between kisses, “there’s so much more of you I’d like to kiss.”

“Well nothing below my waist hurts,” Camden said, pulling Thomas closer.

Thomas rested his forehead on Camden’s. He bit his lip as Camden began undoing Thomas’s trousers, his lips finding Thomas’s neck. Thomas shivered as Camden’s hand found its destination, his tongue stroking Thomas’s neck with the same rhythm as the strokes of his hand. Though taken aback but how quickly Camden moved to something so intimate, it didn’t take too long to embrace it. Thomas’s hips rocked, his pulse quickened, and his cheeks flushed against Camden’s roving lips.

“Feels good?” Camden whispered into Thomas’s ear. A long moan was all Thomas could muster in response. “What about this?” Camden asked as he slid himself out of the pajama bottoms, grabbing himself and Thomas in the same hand.

Thomas moaned and wrapped his hand around Camden’s, panting in ragged breaths in time with the quickening pace of their hands. 

Camden slipped his hand free and let Thomas take charge, gripping Thomas’s shoulder as he looked down to watch. Thomas didn’t look down; instead, he kept his eyes on Camden’s face, finding it that much more beautiful when flushed with desire. 

“I’d throw you on the bed right now if you were in perfect health,” Thomas breathed.

Camden groaned with frustration. “I want that so, so much.”

“But this is good, too, aye?”

“Aye,” Camden agreed with a smile, copying Thomas’s accent. He nudged Thomas’s hand away and took over once more.

Thomas smiled and grinned as his eyes slowly closed. He rested a hand against the closest wall to steady himself, not wanting to inadvertently bump or grab for Camden’s bad arm as he melted further into bliss.

Camden nudged Thomas toward the wall until Thomas’s back was pressed against it. He kissed Thomas deeply, pumping faster as Thomas’s moans caressed his tongue. “Turn around,” Camden whispered.

Thomas leaned against wall. “Maybe just this today?”

Camden sighed. “You just said you’dve thrown me on the bed if you could.”

Thrown you on the bed, Thomas thought, not the other way around. “What about this?” Thomas asked as he lowered himself to his knees.

“That… that definitely works for me,” Camden breathed as Thomas took him into his mouth. His eyes rolled behind his eyelids and he tried not to grip Thomas’s hair too tightly in his fingers. He moaned through parted lips, louder and louder as Thomas made him slicker and harder. 

Thomas wondered if anyone out in the courtyard could hear Camden, growing harder himself at the thought.

“Stand up,” Camden panted. “I want to finish together.”

Thomas looked up at Camden with his mouth still full.

Camden shuddered at the sight. “Or, or maybe stay right there and keep looking at me.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed mischievously. He slid Camden out of his mouth slowly, grinning as Camden’s moans begged for more. He pumped Camden in his hand, his grin growing, their eyes still locked. He let just the very tip of his tongue touch the tip of Camden’s cock, eliciting the pained moan he’d hoped for. Beg me, Thomas thought. 

“Please, Thomas, please,” Camden panted. 

Thomas kissed Camden slowly as he stroked him in his hand, up and down Camden’s shaft. “Please what?”

Camden felt dizzy with desire, turned on by Thomas’s turn of behavior. “Please, Thomas,” Camden breathed.

“I’m not sure what you want,” Thomas replied quietly with mock innocence. 

Camden closed his eyes, gripping Thomas’s hair tightly. “Please… let me… make me…”

With Camden’s eyes still closed, Thomas took him by surprise, taking Camden all the way into his mouth. Thomas was sure now that anyone out in the courtyard could hear Camden’s cries and moans of pleasure.

Thomas swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before Camden’s eyes finally opened. He stood, and was taken aback himself when Camden pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss. 

“I taste good on you,” Camden breathed when their lips parted. “Your turn now.”

Thomas shook his head as he rose to his feet, “I finished myself when you did, you were just too occupied to notice.”

Camden beamed and wrapped his good arm around Thomas’s neck. “I certainly feel no pain right now. You’re better than an Aspirin.”

“I’m happy to be your painkiller,” Thomas said with a smile, holding Camden by the waist. 

“I can’t wait for this arm to heal so I can truly take advantage of your curative properties.”

Thomas nuzzled his nose against Camden’s. “I’ll do any taking advantage that happens in this bedroom,” he whispered with half-closed eyes and a sly smile. 

Camden’s eyebrows raised. “I take it you’re the type to go to your knees, but not the type to go against the wall?”

Thomas unconsciously straightened his posture. 

“That wasn’t an accusation,” Camden said, taking note of the change of tone in Thomas’s body language. “It was an observation.”

Thomas buttoned Camden’s top, kissing Camden before replying. “I’m tired of being the one taken to the wall, that’s all.”

Camden nodded. “I’ve been there myself.”

Thomas smiled with his lips, but not his eyes. I doubt you’ve been where I’ve been, he thought.

“So,” Camden said with a smile and a deep breath, hoping to lift the cloud he felt over the room. “Perhaps you could help me with food and drink? Honestly, I’m pretty helpless even with two working arms.”

Thomas smiled with his eyes now. “I’d be glad to. Though I warn you, I haven’t had to cook a meal for myself since… maybe ever.”

Camden chuckled. “There are servants for the servants?”

“And servants beneath them, still,” Thomas said, patting Camden’s chest. 

“Where do you think I’d fall in those ranks if we were back in England?”

Thomas took a step back and looked Camden over, head to toe. “A Baron, perhaps,” he replied, pulling Camden close for one more kiss. “But you’d still find yourself below me.”

Camden kissed Thomas back. “Very eagerly, I’m sure.”

\----------------------------------

Clyde threw his bat in the dirt and sulked back to the bench. “This game’s nothing like cricket. Cricket is fun.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes as he absentmindedly rolled a baseball between his hands. “It’s not the game’s fault you’re no good at it.” Though he spoke to Clyde, his eyes were on Camden, who stood on the mound, playing pitcher for the other team. It only takes one arm to pitch, he had told Buster, insisting on playing the sport as a symbol of his ability to still perform.

“Whatever happened between you two?” Clyde whispered. “You never said anything.”

“Not sure what you mean,” Thomas said, his eyes still on Camden.

Clyde snickered. “That tells me everything.”

As Thomas had assumed, he picked up the game of baseball quickly. He played any position he was assigned with relative ease. “Maybe you missed your true calling,” Buster had told him after their first practice. “Those kinds of callings find you retired by my age,” Thomas replied, though he was thoroughly flattered.

A group of women in attendance cheered especially loudly for the most attractive players, including plenty of whoops and whistles for Thomas. “I thank God that I don’t have to compete with you for the ladies,” Clyde told Thomas after Thomas returned to the bench following a home run.

“They’re all yours,” Thomas said, cringing at the noise from the crowd. “Have they no dignity making sounds like that?” he asked as he lit a cigarette, mocking the high pitched cheers with his cigarette between his teeth.

“I don’t know, I like the noises they make,” Clyde replied, helping Thomas block the warm summer wind to get a light.

Towards the ninth inning, the sun began to set and crickets at the farthest ends of the field began to sing their evening song. He admired the way Camden looked in the warm orange glow of the setting sun, not that there was a light that didn’t flatter. Thoughts of Camden had grown beyond the bedroom in the days since they had been intimate. Thomas found himself missing Camden when they weren’t on set together. Camden still had a snooty air about him, as Clyde was quick to point out, but don’t I have one of those myself, Thomas thought. 

Camden was able to remove his sling and get into a livery costume, and he held a lightweight tray in his arm to disguise his cast. While Thomas worked for Buster both on and off set, Camden was able to rest between takes, and Thomas swore Camden took a bit of pleasure sitting in his canvas chair while Thomas worked. But again, Thomas thought, so would I.

“Come over tonight,” Camden whispered to Thomas while they waited under the hot lights for the cameras to be loaded with new rolls of film.

“I promised a friend I’d have dinner,” Thomas said, having committed to his elderly landlords that he would be home for Sunday supper.

Camden smiled. “Unpromise. I need you,” he mouthed, barely audibly.

Thomas felt himself melt, and not from the lighting. “I can visit after.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Though supper was finished by eight, Thomas waited until nine to head to Camden’s, hoping the longer Camden waited the more he would pine for Thomas to arrive. Thomas was right, as the door swung open before Thomas even finished knocking, and Camden pulled him inside by the lapel of his jacket. He shut the door and backed Thomas against it. He was in his pajamas, but the top was unbuttoned, his feet were bare, and his hair looked as if he had been raking his hand through it while he waited.

“Did you eat dinner or have you just been waiting to devour me,” Thomas said with a smile, sounding cool despite heating up at the sight of the disheveled, restless man before him.

Camden looked Thomas over as if he was indeed about to eat him up. “You’re all I can think about.”

“You’ve been on my mind as well,” Thomas said, his voice still even.

Camden’s eyes were hazy with lust. “I need your mouth again. And I need more.”

Thomas straightened. “One good turn deserves another, don’t you think? Your mouth this time.”

Camden straightened as well. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Get in the bedroom.”

Thomas licked his lips. He thought Camden would want to continue the game Thomas started. He’d pleasured himself to the thought of Camden’s begging, and wanted more of it. Instead, it seemed Camden wanted to play the lead role.

Impatient at the lack of reply from Thomas, he grabbed Thomas’s lapel once more and tugged him close. “I. Need. You.”

Thomas cocked his head to the side. “Behave like a good boy, and you can have me.”

Camden’s jaw clenched, turned on by Thomas’s reply despite himself. He let go of Thomas’s jacket, paused for a moment, and then got on his knees.

“There you go,” Thomas cooed, petting Camden’s cheekbone with the back of his hand. “But let’s go to the bedroom first.”

Camden began to rise to his feet, but Thomas put a hand on Camden’s shoulder. “I didn’t say get up.”

Camden sat back on his heels, perplexed. “Do you… are you asking me to… to crawl there?”

Thomas ran his fingers through Camden’s hair and smiled.

Camden still looked perplexed despite smiling. “Why?”

Thomas didn’t smile in return. He pictured Camden in his canvas chair, watching as Thomas ran around the set, busy with a dozen odd jobs despite the same amount of acting responsibility as Camden. Then he pictured Downton and the world he’d left behind for this new land, and all the men that watched from their chairs as he ran around doing his job. His fingers were still in Camden’s hair, and he tightened his grip just enough to tip Camden’s head upward. “Because, just once in my life, I don’t want to be the one on my knees.”

Camden’s smile faded, and Thomas took his hand from Camden’s hair, assuming the next words out of Camden’s mouth would be a goodbye. Instead, with his bad arm tucked into his chest, Camden put his other palm on the floor, and let Thomas lead him to the bedroom.

____________________


End file.
